


Heather

by Shaderose



Series: Parkner Week 2020! [8]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: And is dying, Angst, Character Death, Death, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener loves Peter so much, Harley has Hanahaki, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, If you so choose to want it/read it :), M/M, Pining, RIP, SECOND CHAPTER IS THE HAPPY ENDING, Sickness, There is a good ending yall, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, dying, or so it seems ;), peter parker is oblivious, 💞❤💞
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaderose/pseuds/Shaderose
Summary: Harley just nods once, twice on autopilot, and then they're walking away, talking, and then Peter laughs, louder and brighter than he ever has with Harley, and the blond feels his stomach drop, feels his eyes widen and his heart ache, sharp and piercing. Because, they look like the perfect couple. Because Peter likes MJ.He coughs, suddenly, a harsh tickle in his throat that he tries to rub away, coughing a few more times into his elbow, before swallowing. Jeez, he must be getting sick. Great, just what he needs right now. He just turns, and walks to his next class, the sweet smell now feeling bitter against his tongue.~~"I’ll keep all my emotions right here, And then one day, I’ll die.”/hanahaki/pining~~Why would you ever kiss me?I'm not even half, as prettyYou gave her your sweaterIt's just polyester, but you like her betterWish I were Heather...
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Parkner Week 2020! [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857949
Comments: 30
Kudos: 112
Collections: Parkner Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 9! Just a note, day 7 and day 10 will probably be out eventually? I've just been feeling crappy so I haven't been writing. Sorry!!
> 
> Also PLEASE read the tags. This is EXTRA sad folks for buckle up for the feels trip.
> 
> ((Just keep in mind that there's a second chapter for a reason ;P))
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!! 💞💞💞

**I still remember, third of December**   
**Me and your sweater, you said it looked better**   
**On me than it did you, only if you knew**   
**How much I liked you**

"Harls!"

Harley is closing his locker, letting out a shaky breath as he shivers slightly, his freezing body a stark contrast to his now bright, warm face and light smile that etches his face everytime his name comes out of those thin, pale lips that he adores so much. He glances over just in time to see Peter stop in front of him, his eyes sparkling with an uncontainable glee that they always seem to hold, his presence already a bright light, a warmth thats thawing Harley out bit by bit, piece by piece, just by existing.

"Hey, Pete."

His big doe, caramel eyes hold a swirl of intrigue in them, interest as he asks, bouncing on the heels of his feet, "How'd you find it?!?"

Ah, yes, the test. He had forgotten all about it the minute Peter had entered his vision, an angel casting his light and banishing all of the darkness from his mind, filling it with breathy laughs and dimpled cheeks. "It was good," Harley shrugs, locking his locker before turning his full attention to the boy, feeling himself melt under the intensity of the sun in front of him, glorious and beautiful, shining, thinking he should call himself icarus. "How did you find it? Have you done it yet?"

He shakes his head quickly, like a dog shaking water from its fur, a golden retriever, bright, innocent, loyal, yet strong, protective, kind. "Nope! I have it next period." He runs a hand through his hair, then, smiling sheepishly, with a hint of nerves. "Im a little worried about it, to be honest."

"You'll be fine," Harley snorts, shaking his head lightly, ignoring the chill that runs through his body and gives him goosebumps, makes him rub his arms subconsciously. "Its really not that bad." Nevermind how Peter has an IQ that can rival Tony's, and how he aced every test he's had, no matter how worried about them he was.

Peter's eyebrows furrow, then, and before Harley can ask whats wrong, or try to reassure him of his concerns, he butts in, "Are you cold? Here," and proceeds to put his books he was carrying onto the floor, grabbing onto the front of his hoodie and yanking it over his head.

Harleys face flushes, he can feel the burn as he glances at the smooth skin seen for a few seconds as his shirt underneath shifts up with the hoodie, before he forces himself to look away, scolding himself internally as Peter bunches up the sweater, now in his hands, and holds it out to the blond. A part of Harley thinks he should protest, should say _no you need it more_ \- he isn't the one with no thermoregulation in the middle of winter, after all- but he can't get the words out as he gently takes the sweater and pulls it on, smelling the signature Parker scent of apples and cinnamon. "Thank you," He murmurs softly, grins as his rapidly beating heart swells, and Peter's smile widens back as he shrugs it off, as if it was nothing, even though it was _so much more than that_ to Harley.

"It suits you." Peter says easily, oblivious as the words run through Harleys mind and set his body aflame, the chill from before gone instantaneously, oblivious to how those words made Harleys entire day, entire week, maybe his entire month, maybe, maybe he _does_ have a chance, maybe Peter _does_ like him back, maybe-

He doesn't know why he assumed anything. He knows better than to test fate.

**But I watch your eyes as she walks by**   
**What a sight for sore eyes**

As soon as his mind starts to whirl with what ifs and maybes, Peter's gaze flickers, before straying completely, opening wide and his jaw dropping slightly, a slight hue growing on his cheeks. Harley furrows his brow, before following Peter's gaze, his heart stopping as it does.

Because there she is, the woman of Peter's dreams, walking down the hallway with her head held high, her face blank and confidence flowing off of her in waves, everyone else moving out of her way as she walks towards her next class. Her curly darker brown hair bobs with her steps, and her almost midnight black eyes are focused, intense, staring straight ahead before veering off track and focusing on _them_ , on him he thinks first before he realizes its a little to his left, and realizes her gaze is on _Peter_ , and then she's approaching. Peter straightens, and brushes his shirt down, and Harley's mind is reeling, because everything's happening so fast but Peter, Peter is trying to look nice, and has this look in his eyes, and a lightness to his smile and-

"Oh, h-hey MJ." He stutters, his smile shaking slightly and his fingers twitching against his books held to his chest, he's _nervous_ , he wants to impress her, he's-

"Hey loser," MJ says back, not nicely but not mean either, no bark to the bite as she nods her head to the side. "Wanna walk to class?"

Peter nods, a little too harshly, a wince on his face for a few seconds before he plays it off, tries to play it cool. "Yeah, yeah, sure!" He goes to step next to her, before freezing, as if he just remembered Harley was still there, glancing back at him and asking faintly, apologetically, "I'll see you later?"

Harley just nods once, twice on autopilot, and then they're walking away, talking, and then Peter laughs, louder and brighter than he ever has with Harley, and the blond feels his stomach drop, feels his eyes widen and his heart ache, sharp and piercing. Because, they look like the perfect couple. Because Peter _likes MJ._

He coughs, suddenly, a harsh tickle in his throat that he tries to rub away, coughing a few more times into his elbow, before swallowing. Jeez, he must be getting sick. Great, just what he needs right now. He just turns, and walks to his next class, the sweet smell now feeling bitter against his tongue.

**Brighter than a blue sky**   
**She's got you mesmerized, while I die**

A few hours later, Harley is rubbing his eye and yawning as he waits for the elevator to stop, stepping out onto the lab floor once the doors finally open.

He puts in the code of the lab, hearing the faint hiss of air before the door unlocks, and he pushes it open before stopping and blinking a few times. "Is Peter not here?" He tries to keep the disappointment, the worry out of his tone but fails miserably, so much so that Tony, who was head first into the front hood of an older car, sits back up straight and glances over to him, wiping his hands off with a dirty towel sat on a nearby table.

"Nah, had to cancel for a study date or something." Harley tenses, then, and swallows a bunch, the itching returning to his throat as a lump grows, and Tony's eyes narrow, reading, searching, his head tilting. "You feelin alright, bub? You're looking a little pale around the- gills." He waves to around his face, and Harley just shakes himself, forces himself out of his mind and to move his feet forward, towards his and Peter's workstation, his stomach twisting and churning, making him feel nauseous.

He goes to reassure, to say he's fine, maybe getting sick but nothing bad, but as soon as he opens his mouth and inhales, the burning comes back full throttle and he bursts into coughs, harsh and heavy, making his lungs ache as he leans over slightly, gasping for air in between.

"Shit, kid," Tony rushes over to his side, making sure to rub his back as Harley wheezes into his elbow and waves him off.

"I'm good, just si-" He barely gets out before coughing again, and the older man just hums, clearly concerned as the wave _finally_ tapers off and Harley can breath again.

"Sick?" Harley just nods, wincing as he swallows, his throat sore, feeling rubbed raw. Tony places a hand on his forehead, face scrunched. "You aren't warm, how long have you been feeling sick for?"

"Not long," he croaks, wincing again. "Don't really feel it, just- coughing. Cold."

Tony just hums again, and there's a few moment of silence as Harley catches his breath. "Go grab a glass of water and rest, Har." He pats his shoulder, squeezing once before letting go and moving back to the car.

Harley turns, protest right on his tongue, "But-"

"But nothing." Tony interupts him smoothly, pointing a finger in his direction and wiggling it around. "If you're sick- which you clearly are, don't tell me you aren't-" Harley's mouth snaps shut with a faint glare, Tony just raising an eyebrow back. "You need to _rest._ Now get." He shoos him off, and Harley just raises his arms in an amused, and slightly annoyed, defeat, wandering off back towards the doors of the lab.

**Why would you ever kiss me?**   
**I'm not even half as pretty**

He makes his way up to the penthouse, his _home_ , and to his room, only stopping for a second to stare down the hall, towards Peter's room, where he stays whenever lab nights go too long or whenever he stays for the weekend, and feels a strange disappointment, an upset bubbling in his chest. He forces it out in a sigh, before shuffling into his room, shutting the door behind him as his throat starts to itch again. Damn this cold. It came on so quick, quicker than any cold he's ever had before, but he just shrugs it off as a stronger virus, probably just a bad flu this year, before collapsing onto his bed.

A waft of wind and dust breezes by him, and sends a familiar scent to his nose, making him glance down and blink in surprise. He's still wearing Peter's sweater that he had given him earlier that day. He must've forgotten to take it off, to give it back.

Before he can stop himself, he's leaning down and pressing his nose into the fabric, his mouth covered by the front of the hood as he breaths in, and shuts his eyes, smelling the apples and cinnamon, with a hint of detergent and deodorant, and pretends. Pretends for a split second that Peter is there with him, lying beside him, holding him, _cuddling_ him to his chest, maybe kissing the top of his head, maybe rubbing his back, maybe tilting his head up and pressing a kiss to his lips-

**You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester**   
**But you like her better**

He exhales, and the moment is gone, the thoughts drowned out by an overwhelming guilt and _ache_ \- of knowing, knowing that'll never happen, that it'll only ever be a dream, a fantasy- that sends him reeling, sends him into another coughing fit, makes him lean over his bed and gag, his stomach twisting and lurching. He gasps for breath, before coughing more, gagging again except this time, this time something comes up, what feels like a feather, or a knife carving up his throat and spitting out of his mouth, covered in mucus and- and _blood_ , red spots patching his bedsheets as he wheezes for air, the tickle in his throat finally ceasing its vicious attack and leaving him shaking. He stares down at the patch of blood, at the- leaf? Petal? with wide eyes, and picks it up with trembling hands, his mind running at a mile a minute because _what the fuck is this, what is happening, he just spit up blood, isn't that a bad sign? Oh God-_

He doesn't know much of a common cold, but he knows enough to know _this isn't normal._ So he does what any teenager would do, and looks up his symptoms online, hoping it isn't as bad of a situation as his mind is making it out to be.

**I wish I were heather.**

**Watch as she stands with you holding her hand**

Harley shuffles into the living room, yawning and rubbing his eye after his mid afternoon nap, going to get a snack from the kitchen before supper, before getting stopped in his tracks.

"Harls, you're awake!" He turns his head quickly, smiling widening as he sees Peter, his best friend, his _crush_ , his _love_ on the couch, before it fades just as fast at the sight MJ sat beside him, so close their legs were touching, sides brushing, looking as if they were snuggling only moment before.

He forces his cheeks back up, and tilts his head slightly, putting on an air of nonchalance, of amusement and surprise. "Pete! What're you doing here?" He wasn't supposed to be at the tower this weekend, but Harley definitely wasn't complaining. Well- his gaze flickers to the girl sat next to him, staring at him intensely as always, but with an air of friendliness- not _r_ _eally_ , anyways.

"Well, we were planning on going to see a movie in the theaters, but they were mostly sold out for the times we could go, so I asked Mr. Stark if we could watch some here." Peter scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish smile before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "I was gonna tell you, but you were asleep, and I didn't want to wake you."

**Put your arm around her shoulders,**   
**Now I'm getting colder**

Harley winces externally, before playing it off, even as the sharp knife still sticks out of his chest, even as the skin around it throbs and the blood pools on the floor. Peter could've easily texted him, and told him of their change of plans, even if he was asleep. It isn't like he hasn't done it before. Nah, Harley gets the hint pretty easily, especially when the knife dissipates into his lungs, and spreads an itch to his throat, making him clear it to try and get rid of it before it gets too bad. _Not here, not now._ "Oh thats fine, don't worry." He lies, grinning enough to wear the burn in his cheeks could rival the growing nausea at the back of his throat. "I just came to get a snack, so I'll just-" He points to the kitchen, before starting his trek back towards it, letting out a weak cough and trying to hold the outburst off until he gets back to his room.

But of course, it isn't that easy for him. Why would it be?

**But how could I hate her?**   
**She's such an angel**

"Hey," MJ cuts in as he walks, making him stop again and turn towards her with his facade back in place. She looks at him unimpressed, like she can tell he has a mask in place, but her eyes are alight with a friendliness, a kindness that makes the rock of guilt heavier in his gut. "Do you wanna watch with us?"

She gestured to the screen, to the paused start of what looks like Jurassic Park, and Harley has to swallow the bitter taste of greens before smiling and shaking his head again. "Nah, I got- I got uh, homework. To do."

She narrows her eyes at him, like she can read between the lines of his little white lie (that wasn't really too much of a lie, he _does_ have homework to do, he just doesn't _have_ to do it yet), but she just shrugs it off, leaning back into Peter's embrace. "Alright then, loser. Don't be afraid to join when you're done, if you want."

Harley just nods, making sure they're looking away back towards the movie before rushing to the cabinet, grabbing the first thing he sees and booking it back to his room, closing and locking the door before collapsing into a fit of coughs and sputters, sliding down the door as little white petals scatter around him, tainting with dots of crimson red.

**But then again,**   
**kinda wish she were dead**

Once his fit has calmed, he glares at the little white petals surrounding him, mocking him, angrily wipes away the tears burning river into his cheeks as he puts them into a pile and picks them all up, throwing them into the trash can next to his bed, which is already halfway full with bloody tissues, petals and leaves, before stumbling to his bed and collapsing into it, his heart heavy and eyes burning from tears that are _still_ forming, but for a completely different reason.

During his research from around a week ago, he had discovered pretty quickly that he didn't just have a cold, or the flu. No no no, cause when would Harley Keener's life be _that_ easy? No, instead, he found out that he had hanakaki, hakanani, hana- hana _something_ , a disease that made him grow flowers in his lungs because he _loves someone._ More specially, because he loves someone who didn't love him back. It wasn't very hard to then find out who that someone _was,_ especially when he found out which flower he was spitting up all the damn time.

White chrysanthemum flowers. A symbol for truth, and honesty. Of loyalty, and devoted love. Of _purity_. And if he had had any other doubt that it could've been one Peter Benjamin Parker, it had been wiped away with the revelation, because who else could fit the symbolism of a white chrysanthemum to the _tee_ , outside of Peter? Especially out of the people he knew, out of the people he _could love?_

And he _hated_ it. Harley loathed this disease, this curse that had been casted upon him _so much_ , because it was just so _unfair_. It was hard enough, having these feelings and knowing they weren't reciprocated, it was bad enough having to go through day by day, watching Peter be happy and knowing it's _not with him,_ but now? Now he had to suffer externally as well as internally? Now he had to choke and sputter and vomit up flowers that mocked him everytime he thought about the boy? Now... now he had to _die,_ because of his _love?_

It wasn't fair. And he knew there was a surgery he could get, but it would erase all of his feelings for the brunette, romantic _and_ platonic, and god he couldn't do that. He couldn't lose Peter, his best friend for the past four years, when they had been through everything together, ups and downs and thicks and thins, _everything_ , all because of some stupid feelings. He couldn't. He'd _rather_ die.

And so, he suffers. Quietly, alone, he suffers, and sobs in the emptiness of his room, knowing one day it'll all stop, and knowing it'll be painful when it does.

**As she walks by**   
**What a sight for sore eyes**

He suffers, as she joins along with their little group, of him and Ned and Peter, where ever they go. At the lunch table at school, to the park, to each other's houses as they study, she follows _everywhere_ , at Peter's side as if they're conjoined to the hip. And Peter couldn't seem happier.

**Brighter than a blue sky**   
**She's got you mesmerized**

He suffers, when he has to start backing out of things because of it. When he has to start spending less time with Peter, coming up with excuses as to why he can't go, as to why he can't show, more and more until he _knows_ its suspicious, until he can hear the pain in Peters voice that sends another knife hurling into his chest, but he can't _do it anymore_. He can't just sit there, and watch MJ be everything Harley ever wanted to be, beautiful and stunning and funny, smart, creative and witty, watch as Peter laughs at her every joke, smiles at her while she's not looking, and looks at her with puppy dog eyes so full of love that it would make him jokingly sick if it didn't _actually_ make him ill. He can't, he just can't.

**While I die**

He suffers, as the coughs turn to fits, as they go from a few seconds long, to a few minutes, to ten, to twenty, to thirty, as the petals grow from one, to two, to four, to six, as it goes from petals, to half flowers, to almost full flowers that he's now hurling up, usually leaned over the toilet and barely able to breathe.

He feels himself weakening. Feels his legs trembling more, feels himself thinning as he can't keep down his food anymore, getting thrown up with the bunches of flowers, feels himself get more and more exhausted as the days go by. He feels himself _dying_ , and yet he still says nothing.

Until it all comes to a head.

**Why would you ever kiss me?**   
**I'm not even half as pretty**

Harley knows, when he wakes up that morning. When he can only take half breaths, his lung clogged with excess petals, flowers, mucus and whatever else. When his heart is slow, slower than normal. When he feels so unbelievably _tired_ , and longs to just close his eyes again. And he would've, if he didn't know it would be his last time.

Instead, he forces himself into a sitting position, before taking a break to wheeze a few breaths, his arms trembling from the strength that movement took out of him. He waits, until his hands are steady enough to grab his phone, before pausing again. He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't. He knows Peter is mad at him, rightfully so, he knows he shouldn't force him to see this, to see-

But he's selfish. And he's _scared_ , blinking tears out of his eyes and swallowing down sobs as he slowly, so so slowly, so so painfully types out the message, telling Peter to come to the tower asap, before he drops his phone again, allowing a few of the tears to fall. He doesnt even wipe them away, as he forces himself to stand, almost collapsing on the spot as he swallows over and over and over, trying not to start coughing, not knowing if hes not going to be able to stop, before raising his shaking legs to step, step, step, step to the living room.

Tony isn't there, gone to a conference in Europe the week before. He supposed to be flying back in a few days, but Harley knows he won't make it until then. At least he knows Tony won't have to see him when he- before he-

He makes it to the couch before his knees buckle, and he collapses onto the cushions, letting out a few weak coughs just as he hears the elevator doors open. He squeezes his eyes shut, his entire body _aching_ , burning from the inside out, and feels a few tears slip out, knowing what he's about to do. Whats about to happen.

**You gave her your sweater**   
**Its just polyester**   
**But you like her better**

He hears Peter speaking, his words sharp and bitter, angry, and Harley doesnt blame him, wishes he could listen and understand over the blood rushing in his ears, but he can't, feels himself wheezing before he lurches forward into a hard, loud cough, a gag that makes him spit up bile. He then feels a hand on his back, and more words he can't understand as he continues to struggle through breaths and spits and heaves, and then it happens. He spits up blood, and petals, hears a loud gasp beside him as the petals turn into an entire flower as he gags _hard_ , landing gently onto the carpet beneath them, a stark contrast to the harsh spasms and wildfire throbbing in Harleys gut, his stomach, his lungs, his chest.

He then leans heavily to the side, and wouldve fallen over had it not been for the body holding him up, the arms that wrap around his legs and back, and pull him into a chest, rocking him back and forth soothingly as Harley tries to catch his breath and fails. The blood roaring in his ears fades a bit, though, and he can finally hear the words tumbling from Peter's mouth, just as drops of liquid start falling onto Harley's face.

"-ease, please, Harley, talk to me, please, no, God, _please-"_ And he opens his eyes, can only muster it halfway to look up at his love, his brown curly hair askew as it always is, his doe eyes wide and wild, full of tears that are spilling down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, full of fear and agony, before filling with a hint of relief. "Oh thank God, Harls, Harls who is it? Who- please, we gotta, we gotta stop this, we can fix this, I gotta- please, _who-_ "

Harley feels himself smile, lightly, feels the hint of copper liquid on his lips stretch as he stares up at his love, and before, he promised himself he wouldn't do this, but now he can't think, can't muster up much more energy, mumbles faintly, "Love you, l-love... love..."

And Peter's eyes widen, his face crumbling, but Harley can't feel bad, can't feel anything as the burning in his chest turns to numbness, as the "no no no no-" spilling from Peter's lips turns into ringing, as the darkness edges at the corner of his eyes and exhaustion tugs as his limbs, as he can't help but to give into it, as his eyes close one last time, and the last thing he feels is lips pushed against his before everything blurs into oblivion, and everything that could feel ebbs into nothing.

**I wish I were heather...**


	2. Chapter 2

When Harley reawakens, gasping and sudden, its in a hospital bed. He blinks up at the ceiling for a few moments, gasping in deep breaths, something he hadn't been able to do in weeks, his mind whirling because he thought- he shouldn't be- how is he?-

Until a hand grasps his, and Harley glances down, following the hand up to the face of his love, smiling brightly with tears rolling down his cheeks _still_ , his eyes alight with warmth and a gratitude, Tony sat in the chair beside him, still asleep. "Harley..." he croaks, before he's rushing forward and barreling him into a hug, pressing his lips to his own heavily, and Harley wonders if this is actually heaven, and he actually _did_ die.

But Peter hiccups against his mouth, pressing closer for a second before pulling away and running his hands through his hair, down his cheeks, rubbing there with his thumbs, and Harley's mind can't catch up, can't understand because- "Wha- MJ-"

"We're just friends." Peter laughs wetly, still holding onto him tightly and staring at him intensely, like he might disappear at any moment.

"But- you were-" He fumbles off into a coughing fit, but its- _different_ than the others, just caused by a dry throat instead- instead of-

Peter shakes his head, and makes sure Harley looks at him in the eye as he says, "We were just friends, baby. She was touch starved, that's why we- we cuddled sometimes, and _lonely_ , we're just _friends._ Good friends, but friends nonetheless because- its just _you,_ Harley." His breath shutters, more tears falling that Harley brushes away with his own hand, feeling stronger than he has in so long, so so long- "Its always been you. I don't know how you didn't see it, I-" He sees guilt swirl in those doe eyes, and Harley refuses, refuses to let Peter feel bad for this, he presses his lips to his to banish the thoughts away, he _refuses_. There was no way he could've known, after all.

Peter just kisses back, sobbing lightly, pulling him closer, as close as physically possible, and Harley- Harley is over the moon, feeling stronger, better, and happier than he ever thought possible, holding the love of his life in his arms, and knowing that, with time, he will heal, his lover in his arms and in his life, loving him back just the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't leave yall on a bad note, I felt too bad aodkkss ❤❤❤❤❤

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Heather by Conan Gray
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr! @shadedrose01 :)


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